


Énouement

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Series: The Shimada Brothers Need Healing [13]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Found Family, Good Dad Content, Here we are in the future (here we are in the futureeee), Love and healing and doing your best and bugging your siblings, M/M, Multi, good communication, summer shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: Énouement: The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.Almost the entire extended Shimada-McCree-Tekhartha-Amari-Reyes-Morrison-etc. family goes on a summer vacation together and take their own moments to reflect.(Featuring POV from Hanzo, Genji, Jesse, Amelie, Fareeha, Gabe, Zenyatta, & Mondatta, set a year-ish after 'Inheritance' Chapter 2)
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past pairings - Relationship, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: The Shimada Brothers Need Healing [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936354
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	Énouement

Summer sweeps in, balmy and refreshing, finally granting them all the opportunity to celebrate the miracle of six months past- Jack finally, officially retiring. 

So read the email sent by Gabe, accompanied by directions and agreed-upon dates for two rental cottages up north along the lush crest of a stunning lake. Gabe and Jack's insistence on shouldering the cost for everyone left Hanzo grimacing and insistent about purchasing and packing groceries. Although come their departure, he finds himself more nostalgic than wound-up. When he was still young and mostly ignorant of his surroundings, their family's summer home in Yamagata was a place of peace and long days in the sun, of ghost stories and his brother's infectious laughter. 

Genji, who always fell asleep while Hanzo lost himself staring out the window, is now the one driving the rented van holding half their party and as much of their belongings. Everyone is asleep or nearly so save himself, Genji, and Gabe in the front bench seat. The unspoiled trees lining the empty highway have turned black and shapeless. The speakers play low and staticky, one song bleeding into another from some unending, unfamiliar playlist. 

“Oh god,” Gabe mutters during a lull in their chatter, half-twitching when a bass-heavy track comes on. “I haven't heard this since I was in high school.” 

“Did you own it on vinyl?” Genji teases, his smile only a little road-weary. He's been driving since their last rest stop and Hanzo worries he's in pain, but doesn't want to embarrass him by asking. 

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Gabe smirks back at him, stretching his legs out as much as he can. Hanzo is nearly desperate to remove his own, but they're nearly there. “I'm pretty sure this was playing when I kissed my first girlfriend.” 

“Ooh, a sordid tale from your past!” 

“Pft, hardly. We were too cool for the camp dance, so we snuck off and sat by the lake with her radio. She gave me a friendship bracelet afterwards, and we were pen pals for a couple years.” 

“So basically married,” Hanzo tries a joke, dryly chuckling. 

“Oh, absolutely! That's as committed as it gets at thirteen.” Gabe laughs in turn and Hanzo feels dimly relieved. “Last I heard, she became an engineer and shacked up with another engineer, so I think she got the better end of that deal.” 

Genji snorts, glancing at them in between his dutiful scanning for rogue deer. “Didn't your first girlfriend run off to Seoul after high school, Hanzo?” 

“Something like that?” Hanzo chews on his freshly-healed snakebite piercings, trying to recall Yuki's face. “And we weren't really- I think our parents were counting on us getting married, but we kissed once after archery practice and agreed to never speak of it again.” 

Gabe snickers, throwing his arms over the backs of their seats. “Wasn't meant to be, huh?” 

“Well, we were also fourth cousins-” 

“Third.” 

“Right. So it was probably for the best.” 

“Ah.” 

“Don't judge him,” Genji adds as they round a long curve. “We were related to almost everyone in Hanamura because most guys in our family couldn't keep their dicks in their pants.” He glances in the rearview to ensure Maya is still fast asleep in the back. “I never understood why they couldn't wrap it up, especially since they were so fucking money-hungry.” 

Hanzo shifts gears, easing up his tone. “Thank goodness you did, or you would have been in real trouble.” 

Genji's grin returns, shining in the moonlight. “Are you slut-shaming me?” 

“Hey, there's no slut-shaming in this car.” 

“I only do it from a place of deep love and affection.” Hanzo smirks, touching a hand to his chest. “When did you have your first girlfriend, again? First grade?” 

“It was fourth grade, thank you very much!” The three of them let out tired, muffled snickers. “I tried to convince the girl who sat next to me that if we kissed under the weird chestnut tree behind the school, we'd each get a wish. She didn't buy it, but she kissed me anyways.” 

“Awh.” 

“That is a bit cute.” 

“Yeah,” Genji smiles, sighing softly. “Then she asked me out for real in high school and I turned her down because she was too flat.” 

“Well, so much for that.” 

“Goddammit.” 

“I know, I know! Hi, my name is Genji, I'm a recovering scumbag.” He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, the creases in his brow staying put after he stops. “I'm still having a hard time picturing you as a summer camp kid, Gabe.” 

“Ah, well, my mom went overseas every summer and it was either that or go to my aunt and uncle's place. Which wasn't bad, but I got tired of babysitting my cousins, and for some reason I couldn't convince her to let me stay home by myself.” 

Hanzo chuckles, remembering his own and Genji's valiant petitions for undeserved independence at that age. “What did your mother do?” 

“WAF- air force, mostly R&D by the time I came around, but they still shipped her out now and again.” Gabe tips his head back slightly, a smile sneaking onto his lips. “She adopted me all by herself, you know. I asked her why once and she said there weren't any guys around worth her time, so she just cut out the middleman.” 

Genji snorts, sounding impressed. “What a badass.” 

“Right? She was the best.” Gabe laughs, audibly scratching his scruffy beard. “I wish she'd made it long enough to meet Liv and Jesse, she would've been the coolest grandma.” 

A small, sympathetic noise escapes Genji. Hanzo nods, leaning on his manners. “Ah, that's too bad. It's such a dangerous calling.” 

Gabe blinks. “Oh, I didn't mean- she got ovarian cancer, actually.” 

“Oh.” 

“Well, that's still a bummer.” 

Hanzo tries to roll his eyes in his brother's direction, but Gabe just chuckles softly. “Yeah, it is.” They turn at a dilapidated barn, the road narrowing. Still paved, but only barely so. The treeline is taller and thicker, rendering the glow of their dashboard lights brighter. “You know what I still miss? Being able to call her. Forty-some years and I still want to pick up the phone and hear her voice.” 

The two of them murmur in glum agreement, but Genji's tone surprises him. “So it doesn't matter how old you get, huh?” 

Hanzo studies his brother from the corner of his eye. The knit between his eyes and the set of his jaw. If Gabe notices, he keeps his tone deceptively casual, gesturing slightly with the hand behind Genji's headrest. “Nope, definitely not. They'll never stop being gone, and you don't realize how much you relied on their advice. Especially when you get your own kids.” 

“Yes, oh god, so much that.” A beleaguered smile gentles Genji's expression as he checks the rearview again. “Maya's amazing. I'd kill and die for her, but there have been _times.”_

“Oh yeah, of course.” Gabe nods, a tired almost-wisdom about him, lips pulling into a grin. “The first time I left Jesse alone with the girls, the three of them emptied a bunch of firecrackers into the bathroom sink and lit them on fire.” 

“Pffft- they did _what?”_

“Why on _earth-”_

“Don't ask me!” Gabe sweeps a hand over his face, visibly aging at the mere memory of it. “I think the idea was to shut the door and see who could stay in the longest? Anyway, I was literally only gone for eight hours. They were trying to paint over the mess when I got back, but the smell was- I don't know why they thought they could get away with it.” 

Genji drives one-handed to muffle his laughter while Hanzo groans into his hands, equal parts incredulous and infinitely grateful for their dogs, who are currently snoozing at the feet of their family. “Let me tell you this much- I tried to be a good dad, but that day I was this close to tossing them in a crate and mailing them to Nebraska.” 

“Your fingers are touching.” 

“I know. They're lucky it was Sunday, post office was closed.” 

That bit of absurdity keeps them amused until the GPS gives up on them, though they still track down their destination without much difficulty. Both cottages lit from within, their brighter-than-the-sun porch lights guiding them to the grassy driveway between. Fareeha's party arrived first, her and Angela waving to them as they all tumble out of the van. 

Hanzo and Gabe end up as baggage handlers, passing everyone their own items from the recesses of the trunk and overhead carrier, as well as mutually taking part in the embarrassing necessity of having to stretch out one's back after hours on the road. 

“I meant to ask you earlier.” Hanzo keeps his tone light, trying to fill the silence as his eyes almost water with relief from his lower spine finally cracking. “What did your mother think of Jack?” 

“She didn't get to meet him, either.” Gabe grunts, setting down the last duffel bag. “I was only eighteen when she went.” 

Hanzo hasn't the time to stick his foot in his mouth, as Gabe shuts the trunk with a heavy click and turns his gaze up to the stars. “I think they would've gotten along great, though. She always supported all my stupid decisions.” 

Hanzo chuckles, trying- not for the first time -to envision introducing Jesse to his own mother. The next thing he knows, he's carried himself inside and collapsed face first into a bed, fast asleep between one blink and the next. 

He wakes early in flowery-scented plaid sheets, electing to ignore the demands of his bladder and lounge a little longer. In the morning light, he can see that their small room is floor-to-ceiling exposed wood, the furniture and doors of a similar make. Given that the cottages are outfitted with modern bathrooms and wi-fi, Hanzo is going to assume that it's the product of a designer whose only instruction was 'rustic,' rather than a true artifact of days gone by. 

When he stretches, the warmth at his back reaches out and catches hold of him, dry lips kissing a trail along his shoulder and stopping beside his ear. “'Mornin', sugarbean.” 

“Good morning.” Goosebumps prickling at his neck, Hanzo rolls into Jesse's embrace. Pillowlines still in his face and hair all a mess, he smiles and Hanzo feels all his troubles melt away for a moment. 

Gone are the worries of bad breath and stale body odour, they hold each other close and kiss like they have nothing better to do. The humidity is due to return later, but for now it's cool and comfortable enough to lay chest-to-chest and enjoy each other's warmth. It's only July, yet he finds himself looking forward to autumn, when he can burrow under the covers with Jesse for hours without their skin sticking together. 

“Oh, what's this?” Hanzo muses, pressing a smooch to Jesse's brow and carding fingers through his hair. “Is that grey I see?” 

“I'm not fussed about it, don't even try.” Jesse angles for one more beardy kiss before Hanzo sits up to roll on his gel liners, propping his head up and jokingly smacking his own hip. “I'll be old and decrepit and you'll still wanna break off a piece of this Kit-Kat bar.” 

“You're ridiculous.” Hanzo scoffs, kissing him sweetly once again. “And entirely correct. Where did we put Ana's gifts?” 

“My suitcase.” Jesse struggles up and scratches himself while Hanzo straps on his legs. “Maybe let her eat breakfast first? There's no rush.” 

“No, I know.” Hanzo digs around in his own suitcase for clean briefs. “I just don't want her to think we've forgotten.” 

Since they moved in together, Hanzo has gone in with Jesse on Mother's Day gifts for Ana. This year they decided to buy separately, which resulted in Hanzo spending over four hours at the mall and texting Jesse in an unbecoming panic. He had mostly talked himself out of the thought spiral that purchasing the wrong perfume would result in Ana disliking him, but it had still been a messy day. 

Ana is rarely in one place for long, even now, so they opted to hang onto the gifts rather than needlessly ship them, and that adds an extra, if completely imaginary pressure. Birthdays and Christmas don't produce the same effect. It still feels- not quite wrong, but strange. Ill-fitting. 

All these years later, he and Genji still struggle to hold both the good and painful parts of their childhood in one hand. Knowing they were loved somehow makes it harder, still leaves him feeling like a cuckoo chick in another bird's nest. Like he's being _greedy,_ somehow. 

Jesse kneels down behind him, looping his arm around Hanzo's waist. “I can hear the gears turning, hon. What are y'thinkin' about?” 

Hanzo smiles slightly, loving his voice when it's rough with sleep. He takes his hand, turning as best he can to look at him. “I know this is something I have to work out on my own, but for now- can you just tell me it's okay for me to be here? To enjoy being here?” 

Jesse McCree does not brush him off with an 'of course,' or remind him they're married, or tell him he's being ridiculous. He squeezes him tight to his bare chest, kisses his temple, and passes him the neatly-tied pastel gift bags. “You're exactly where you're supposed to be.” 

Hanzo's shoulders drop an inch as he nuzzles his husband's cheek. “Thank you, my love.” 

*** 

The lake is too choppy to swim, so their little one must content herself with racing between the two houses, kicking balls and carrying things, caught up in an intense fantasy world to which neither of them will ever be privy. Meanwhile, her dads take the time to meditate near the water's edge, the occasional faint splashes not much distracting them. 

Zenyatta comes out of it first, opening his eyes slowly beneath the brilliant noon sun. The oblong lake sparkles and froths before them, the opposite shore beyond the horizon. There is an artificiality to the property, the trees planted just so and the brush a little too groomed, but it is far from unpleasant. The air is fresh in his lungs and the blue mala in his hand are pleasantly warm. Even the grass beneath them is fresh and comfortable. 

Genji is stone-still at his side, lips moving faintly. He had once dismissed meditation as an impossibility for him- his mind too active to ever be truly at rest. Zenyatta has never been fond of impossibilities, and his hope for his dearest friend bore out in the end. To Zenyatta, seeing his husband shaped by strength and resilience is something he never tires of watching. 

Genji takes a final, unhurried deep breath and tips his head from one side to another, scowling. “I think I did something to my neck yesterday.” 

“Perhaps it's from driving?” Zen reaches out and kneads his hand into the sinew and muscle. “We'll get you two pillows for tonight.” 

“That might do it- oh.” Genji stifles a groan, gripping his thighs. “Right there- harder. Make it hurt.” 

Zen's lips pull to one side, even as he empathizes with Genji's pain. He leans in to whisper, “What's the safeword?” 

“Hngh- Velociraptor?” 

They both break into laughter, leaning into each other. When he reaches for his neck again, Genji takes his hand instead and lays back, stretching out in the dappled sunlight. “You're just like a cat sometimes.” 

Genji feigns a purr, raising another giggle from Zenyatta. After a moment, he squeezes his hand, handsome eyes peeping open behind his glasses. “God, you're so cute. It's really not okay.” 

“I'm so sorry to offend,” Zen teases, feeling a faint, pleased flush. He drapes his mala around his neck, freeing his hand to toy with Genji's green-streaked hair. Stiff, but not as brittle between his fingers now. Jesse and Olivia argue semi-amicably up on the porch, muted by the continuous whoosh of the waves. The others are inside or sunbathing, distant chatter filtering through the greenery. He locates Maya easily, stacking rocks at the base of an oak tree. 

“Did I wake you up with my phone last night?” 

“Not at all. Why, did you forget to put your headphones in?” Usually when Genji can't sleep and ventures down an Internet rabbit hole, he greets him in the morning with cute animal videos or urgent, de-contextualized questions such as 'Will self-driving cars need headlights?' 

“Heh, not this time.” Genji stretches, scratching his jaw where his stubble is already growing in. “I was reading a bunch of stuff and didn't think about the brightness until you started mumbling.” 

“Ah, well if I did wake up, I don't remember.” Zenyatta combs Genji's bangs back, watching his back arch subtly. “Did you read anything interesting?” 

“Ah, just like- research, I guess.” Genji puffs out a sigh. “Now isn't the time, but I'm not sure if I want to keep freelancing.” 

Not entirely a surprise, but Zen still cocks his head with interest. “Ah, is that so?” 

“Yeah, I'd just like- more predictable income, you know?” Genji works his lips together, the scar bisecting them pulling tight. He holds his thumbs and forefingers up in a triangle. “Ideally, something that's also at least semi-related to my degree, and provides enough stimulation that I don't inevitably fuck it up, but it looks like I might have to settle for two out of three.” 

“Not necessarily. We aren't starving, you don't have to change jobs unless you really want to.” 

“No, I know, but I want more- _this.”_ Genji flaps his hand vigorously in the air, words tinged with discontent. “I don't want the responsibility to always fall on you, or for you to feel trapped at work again.” 

“It doesn't, and I don't, generally.” Zen directs a smile into the distance. “I still get frustrated, but I think being frustrated and sticking it out is part of it. I was rather blinded by idealism when I was younger, thinking I'd always be happy as long as I was helping people.” 

“Is it bad if I really respect your pissed-off moments? You seem to get so much accomplished when your fuse is finally burnt.” 

“Mm, I'll take that as flattery.” They laugh, Genji's hand slipping into his again. “You're very versatile. Perhaps if you aim for something completely different, you'll discover something you enjoy.” 

“You might be on to something,” Genji hums, then clicks his tongue in his cheek. “I can't just toss that diploma away now, though.” 

Zenyatta lays down beside him, the sun seeping into his chest and side now. He has to angle his hips to lay comfortably, his calves slightly atrophied despite years of diligent exercises. “You wouldn't be, that knowledge will always be there. It doesn't expire.” 

Genji lets out a half-agreeing, throaty grumble, sounding exasperated with himself. “Still.” 

“Zig-zagging career paths are practically standard now.” Zen allows a moment to pass in silence, the breeze curling around them. He spares a glance at Maya, still stacking rocks. Almost resembling a temple at this point, very curious. “No one would think less of you. We are so much more than our jobs.” 

“See, I want to believe that, I really do.” Genji turns to look at him straight-on. “I envy your sense of purpose. All I want is to not be miserable, and the ability to bring you and Maya more peace.” 

“How can you envy what you already have?” 

“Babe, please.” 

Zen can't help but laugh kindly. “I mean that, I think that's as wonderful a purpose as any.” 

But he understands. Their world has become so much bigger in recent years. And he knows all too well how much Genji identifies with failure, with otherness. That for all he's recovered he sees his days as zero-sum games which he does not always win. 

Genji's face twists on a frown, inches from his own. “I just- I want to give both of you everything.” 

Zen reaches out to thumb Genji's handsome cheek. “I wish I could convince you that's unnecessary, but first I'll have to convince myself.” 

“How's that going?” 

“As well as can be expected.” Zenyatta sighs, rolling onto his back and smiling faintly at the sky. He'll grant his grandmother this much- she at least appeared unshakably confident in doing what she thought best for him and Mondatta. “Do you know what I try to think of, when I find myself fretting the days away?” 

“Attractive strangers in lingerie?” 

“I mean, sometimes.” Zenyatta snorts, gently flicking an ant from his bare arm. “But other times I think about our wedding day, and how I remember next to nothing from that morning.” 

“Oh, really?” Genji turns to him, magnificent eyebrows flicking up over his glasses. “Did you hit your head or something?” 

“No, no, I was just in such a tizzy- so fixated on doing it 'right' and making the most of it and how everything would look, I simply lost time.” He sighs, opening his left palm to catch the sunlight. “Ditya and the others have funny stories that I only recall second-hand. I'm sad that I can't look back on those moments through my own eyes.” 

“Awh, it's okay. I was also a mess.” 

“This I know,” Zenyatta chuckles, so terribly fond of him, and lets his eyes fall shut. “But when I saw you, I decided to have faith that it would all work out. I can still perfectly recall your face when we were exchanging rings.” 

Genji's voice floats over, quiet and thoughtful. “Does it really help?” 

“Yes, it lends possibility, and reminds me that the world doesn't actually crumble when I let go of my fears and judgments.” Zenyatta smiles, unable to be anything but honest. “When it doesn't, it's still an awfully nice thing to think about.” 

Indeed, even on the most tiresome days, he feels the Iris' embrace stronger than ever. Into his spirit, it delivered love and a life that was no longer solely about himself. A buoying, bright hope, and a patchwork meaning that his youthful eyes could not perceive, all contained in the press of Genji's lips against his own. “Mm, wanna sneak off for a quickie later?” 

“Genji.” 

That bright, relaxed laugh always lifts his spirit. “Come on, we haven't done it outside in forever.” 

Zenyatta hums and stretches his arms out, almost ready to doze off. “Well, if you can find sufficient coverage without getting us lost in the woods or ending up in someone's backyard, I'll consider it.” 

An agreeable, almost pointedly chaste smooch on his cheek stirs him further. There is no 'everything' he desires save all of Genji, and perhaps the free time to do all that he pleases with him, rounded out with long embraces and cuddled-close naps. Zenyatta is a simple man, after all. 

“Incoming, two o'clock.” 

Zen braces, though Genji aptly catches half of Maya's weight as she volleys herself across their stomachs. “Can we go swimming now?” 

“No, sweetie, it still isn't safe.” Genji sits up and gestures towards the white-crested water. “Even I'd have a hard time swimming in that.” 

Maya pouts, an adorable sight that Zen has to keep from openly aww-ing at, instead sitting up and welcoming her into his arms for a squeeze. “Will we ever get to go?” 

“Tomorrow, I'm sure.” Genji smiles so easily for her. “The wind will probably stop tonight, I think you'll survive until then.” 

Maya's round face quirks with indignance, and there, there's a sliver of Genji. Her spirit is showing their imprints already. Even without shared blood, Zen finds that he can see and love parts of his younger self which he took for granted- The gapped, whistling teeth, the chubbiness of tiny hands, the whirring energy behind brown eyes. “But I wanna do _something.”_

“Something like what, dear one?” 

“Can we,” Maya drags the word out, wrapping her arms around Zen's neck and dangling, balanced on her toes. “Go looking for Totoros?” 

“Hmm, I think we can manage that.” Genji teasingly pokes her belly where her beloved purple giraffe t-shirt rides up. She seems to be hitting a growth spurt, her socks barely touching her ankles. “Totoros don't really come out in the daytime, though. But I bet we can find some toads!” 

“Can I keep them?” Maya's eyes dart between them, seeking the slightest hint of permission. “I'll take really good care of them, I promise!” 

Zenyatta shakes his head, smiling indulgently. “Wild things belong in the wild. You wouldn't enjoy being kept in a plastic container, would you?” 

“I'd make sure to get their friends,” she insists, rocking from heel to toe, hands clasped around Zen's fingers. “And I'd feed them every day!” 

“Still no,” Genji interjects, pushing himself up and stomping the pins and needles out of his foot. “Besides, they'd drive Chuck crazy, and that wouldn't be fun for anyone.” 

“Okay.” Maya sighs mightily, then wraps her dirt-smudged fingers tight around Zen's tattooed forearm, leaning in close. “I hid some treasure, over there, do you wanna see it?” 

He beams. “Of course!” 

“Do I get to see it?” Genji bends to ask her while Zenyatta lifts himself back into his chair. 

“Don't be nosy, Dad.” 

“Wait, what?” Genji balks while Maya toddles towards her obscure cluster of beach toys and rocks. “Hold on- you can't just 'dad' me like that, like it's nothing! Explain yourself!” 

Maya glances over her shoulder with a look more becoming of a twentysomething, using a tone clearly borrowed from Genji's side of the family. “You're weird. I love you and stuff, but you're weird.” 

Zen has no time or need to chastise their little one, for she's immediately scooped up and swung overhead in a now-expert paternal hold. Maya simply squeals while Genji lightly interrogates her, wriggling but unable to escape his grip. She's gained freckles on her nose this year from teeball and trips to the park, and her black hair shines in the sun, as messy as Genji's no matter if they comb it or not. Even their belly laughs are the same. 

At play, they are as one, yet Zen never feels anything less than welcome. Though he does not excel at pretend, he loves to follow and play audience as Genji enthusiastically passes on the shining, electric spirit that drew Zenyatta to him in the first place. 

He will not fault Genji for his struggles, though he would envy him in turn, had his dearest sparrow not shown him the freedom of an open blue sky and the comfort of a nest all their own. 

*** 

Though she's tired from an hours-long hike in the sunshine, when her parents start openly, if jokingly, mocking each other's poor choices from forty years ago to now- yeah, Fareeha decides she will help out with dinner after all. 

“Don't you want them to get along?” Jesse asks as he fires up the grill, deputized to the task after Jack got waylaid by a hopefully-brief migraine. Dinner for a dozen people is no small task, but hey- full fridge, clear skies, can't lose. 

“Well yeah, but- I don't know. I wish they'd get along a little less.” Fareeha sighs as she unwraps another veggie burger for the flames. She's thirty years too old to want her parents to get back together, but there's still some part of her that wants them to act like her parents. The way she remembers them, at least. 

“It can't be that bad.” 

“She was offering constructive critique on his dating profile.” 

“Eesh. Okay, I'll give ya that one.” 

“Yeah, that's a yikes on trikes from me.” Olivia grimaces from where she's chopping bell peppers for the skewers. “Ay, why does my eye have to itch now?” 

“My hands are covered in fake-ass meat, Jesse?” 

“On it.” Jesse turns away from slapping down patties and hot dogs to scratch his sister's eyelid with surprising delicacy, much to her visible relief. “Where's Angie run off to? I haven't seen her since lunch.” 

“I'm not sure, she went for a soak in the tub a while ago.” Fareeha glances across the stretch of rich green grass separating the two cottages, a muggy breeze whipping up. “Are you guys good here?” 

Olivia waves her off, purple nails glittering in the sun. “Oh yeah, as long as the vegetables aren't burnt to shit, we're fine.” 

Jesse tuts as he wraps up a few ears of corn in tin foil. “I told you- if you want 'em raw, then eat 'em with dip, don't put 'em on the grill and then come whining to me!” 

Fareeha just laughs and leaves them to their chopping and frying, enjoying the slap-pop of her flip-flops as she crosses the yard. She hasn't been on a real vacation in years, going overseas too often to enjoy anything but the comfort of her own bed, backyard, and video games when she does get time off. Her and Angela's schedules don't always line up either, though they're each marginally improving at not-working. 

She finds her girlfriend on the opposite patio, sitting on a lounge chair with one knee pulled up and her arms folded across it, eyes shut. Genji sits behind her, braiding her hair into a looping, coiled bun. Angela's long overdue for a haircut, so it looks like something out of a period film. “Wow, impressive!” 

“It's why the ladies love me,” Genji boasts, grinning wide. He slides the final bobby pin into place and leans forward to smooch Angela's cheek, wrapping his arms around her in a tight squeeze. “I better go wash Maya up for dinner. She was making mud-cakes last I saw her.” 

“Good luck.” Angela smiles as Genji lopes down the ramp leading off the raised deck. Fareeha feels retroactively foolish for old annoyance when Genji continued being cuddly with her after they started dating. Quickly, she had realized it made as much sense as being annoyed with a Golden Retriever or a little kid. 

Angela's eyes shine up at her. So beautiful even when all dressed down, though Fareeha pulls a face at her t-shirt. Sweatpants-grey with a cartoon bear sitting in an Adirondack chair clutching a beer and a fishing pole. “You don't have to actually wear that. I'm pretty sure Dad just gets them as gag gifts.” 

“Are you kidding? I love it.” Angela stretches the shirt out with a little smile. “Now I know why you have a whole collection, he has an eye for the best ones.” 

“It's more that I found them funny as a kid, so he's never stopped buying them.” Fareeha half-smiles, thinking of one from their first trip to Haida Gwaii, too faded and small now, folded neatly at the back of a drawer. “Leftover weekend-dad syndrome, I guess.” 

“Mm, maybe, but I think it's sweet.” Angela returns her attention to the lake beyond the pines, her eyes a thousand miles away. 

Fareeha assesses their modest level of privacy before perching on the chair beside her. “Penny for your thoughts? You've been quiet since this morning.” 

“Oh- yes, I'm fine. Don't worry.” Angela keeps her gaze averted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry for being anti-social.” 

“You haven't been.” Fareeha reaches over to rub her knee, now able to recognize the quiet downbeat in her voice. “Is it something I can help with?” 

“No, not-” Angela cuts herself off with a disgruntled noise, standing and rubbing her neck with both hands. “It was so nice this morning, with the three of you. We were having such a good time, and then-” 

Unseen, Fareeha braces herself. Her parents aren't the type to intentionally embarrass or pry, but had they unintentionally triggered her while Fareeha was in the bathroom? Did they ask something in jest without realizing it dug too deep? 

“All of the sudden, I felt the urge to- run away.” Angela huffs, the edges of her voice turning rough. “I can't explain it, I just can't _do_ the happy family thing for very long.” 

“Hey, it's alright.” Fareeha follows her to the railing, squeezing her taut upper arms from behind, grounding her as Angela often does the same for her. “I know it's frustrating, don't be embarrassed.” 

Fareeha has paid respects at a few funerals, had her share of talking-to-God moments out in the field. She's never been less than aware that each step into the pilot's seat could be her last. But even half of what her brilliant, broken Angela has shared with her would have seen her grounded years ago. Loss and trauma aren't quantifiable, but they do have a tipping point. 

“I'm not _embarrassed,_ I just-” Angela's head droops, her voice faintly trembling. “I don't want to keep holding you back.” 

“Holding me back, how?” Fareeha asks, open-ended and not yet willing to acknowledge how much the possibility held in those words scares her. 

Angela folds her arms tight, shoulders squaring up. “I'm still struggling, I probably always will.” 

“I know,” Fareeha replies simply, without pathos or pity. “And that's okay. I mean, it's not and it sucks, but it doesn't change anything.” 

Angela throws a thin smile her way before continuing. “It does, though. The thought of marriage sends me into that run-away mode too, and-” 

“Woah, wait,” Fareeha unhelpfully interrupts, shutting her eyes for a second. “Please tell me they didn't ask when we're getting hitched, please tell me that's not a thing that actually happened.” 

“It didn't, don't worry.” Angela snickers, possessed of a slightly sadistic enjoyment of Fareeha's suffering at the hands of her family. “But I'm sure you'd like more than just a girlfriend, eventually.” 

“Not really?” Fareeha blinks, baffled and almost indignant. “I've told you before-” 

“But is that how you actually feel?” Angela turns to look at her, eyes intense and quietly tired. “You shouldn't have to put your life on pause-” 

“I'm not!” Fareeha steps back and drags a hand through her hair, frizzed out with the humidity. God, she wishes this had come up last week and not now. “I don't need any of that stuff! I just want to hang out with you for the rest of my life, is that so hard to believe?” 

The storm dies behind Angela's eyes. “Do you- really mean that?” 

“Of course I do.” Fareeha tentatively takes her hands, hurt blooming, the reticence of their early days returning. “Why do you think I'd lie about that?” 

“I don't.” Angela squeezes Fareeha's hands back, fiercely strong for a moment. “But I don't want to force you to organize your life around my problems.” 

“When have you successfully forced me to do anything?” Fareeha holds up one finger, biting back a smile when Angela's lips curl on a devious smirk. “No, that doesn't count. There was no actual force involved.” 

“Fine, fine.” Angela inclines her head, smiling but her eyes still aching. “But still-” 

“But nothing.” Fareeha steps closer, gently rubbing her hips. The acid inches back down her esophagus. As she's gotten older, she's come to accept that letting herself love means brushing up against the fear of now all-the-more painful heartbreak. Every day, she decides to stare the fear down and keep walking. “I like our life, don't you?” 

“I love it.” Angela's face softens as she leans forward, laying her brow against Fareeha's sweat-damp shoulder. “I only wish that I- that all of this was easier.” 

“I don't need easy,” Fareeha says, voice low in case anyone strolls in on their moment. “I don't need you to 'be' anything for me, I love all of you. It's okay if you need to run away sometimes, as long as I can find you again.” 

Fareeha knows the sharp double-edge of ambition. That the worst possibility is always to become a problem, a burden on someone else. All she can do is keep putting her problems next to Angela's, hope that it makes them seem a little smaller, a little lighter. 

“I love you.” Their arms slide snug around each other. Fareeha doesn't miss the way Angela seems to melt against her, the tenderness in her voice. “I'm so lucky to have you.” 

“The feeling is so mutual.” Fareeha smiles, kissing her crown and holding her tight, memorizing the scent of her hair. “...Is your face shoved into my cleavage on purpose?” 

“Maybe.” Angela tips her head back with a grin that's at once adorable and utterly devilish. “You packed your swimsuit, right?” 

“Yes I did, you perv. Relax.” Fareeha doesn't quite understand why Angela gets so excited for what is essentially a crop tank and yoga shorts when her bikini can and should be registered as a deadly weapon, but she's long since abandoned that front. Drawing her fingers over the loose plaits of Angela's bun, she pauses to gently squeeze the back of her neck. “What do you need?” 

“Nothing, honestly.” Angela steps back, blowing out a sigh and hooking her fingers through the belt loops of Fareeha's jeans. “My brains are scrambled today, and they might still be tomorrow, but I still want to try and have a good time. I can't let them ruin everything.” 

“You're such a badass.” Fareeha smiles and leans in to kiss her forehead. “Do you want to join everybody for dinner? I can lie and say you have diarrhea.” 

A snort-laugh escapes Angela's throat. “Very considerate of you, but no. I'll be fine.” She takes Fareeha's hand, the direct warmth of her skin always shooting straight to her heart. Her kiss still a small surge of sweet electricity against her lips. “Thank you, for looking out for me.” 

“Well, we both know I get off on that kinda thing.” 

They giggle to themselves and wander back to the other cottage, hand-in-hand. They're all shooed inside by the bugs, her and Angela cramming into a corner of the living room on folding chairs. Her mother tells them a long and ridiculous story about Reinhardt, one that Fareeha's heard twenty times but still laughs at, and her dad expresses his bitter yet optimistic predictions for the upcoming hockey season, finding common ground in Angela's love for competitive figure skating. 

Far beyond the end of the dock, the sky turns a hazy tangerine in the wake of the humid winds. 

“You've never kayaked before? Even in college?” Fareeha sticks her shoes safely behind her bum, dipping one foot and then the other into the deliciously cool water. 

“What can I say? I was young and short on sober friends,” Angela chuckles, rolling up her pink leggings to slip her own feet into the lake. “Our only outdoor activities were beer gardens, and jogging.” 

“Presumably not on the same day.” She laughs, swishing her feet gently back and forth. “Dad's a good teacher, but honestly, as long as you don't flip it you'll be fine.” 

“Mm, I'm looking forward to it.” Angela smiles, shifting closer to cuddle against Fareeha's side. Staring off at the horizon, it's easy to loses themselves in the near-infinite play of colours, from desaturated blue to reddish-orange. With the dock rising on each gentle wave, it's easy to imagine the two of them bobbing along the surface of some distant, alien planet, cradled amongst the stars they've watched all their lives. 

Angela's fingers find their way up Fareeha's sweaty back, finding the ends of her hair and combing through them slowly. Undoing the little tangles and sending faint tingles through her scalp as they watch the sunset. Her hand finds Angela's waist, gathering her that much closer to her side. 

As the long shadows of the pines stretch and render the air a little chillier, a little more spooky, her sweet girlfriend turns and holds her gaze for a moment. They kiss, tender and easy in a way Fareeha used to deny was possible. And with the simplest of words, despite any difficulties the next day or year might bring, Fareeha falls even more in love. 

“Let's go inside and watch some Next Gen, yeah?” 

*** 

Jesse kills it at the only round of Trivial Pursuit they get through before lights out, though his teammate is the one who cinched it on the final science question. He finds her already in pajamas on the lower bunk in her shared room, watching baseball on the small, curved-screen TV atop the low dresser. “How's the home team doing?” 

Maya pauses her juice-chugging long enough to answer him. “They're blowing it.” 

Jesse restrains himself from laughing quite as hard as he'd like to, reaching out to smooth back her hopelessly-mussed hair. “Somebody coming to tuck you in?” 

She nods. “Zen-dad, he said ten more minutes.” 

“Alrighty.” He bends to quickly kiss her crown. “G'night, kiddo, sleep tight.” 

“G'night, Uncle Jesse.” She spares a shining glance up at him before training her eyes back on the screen, wholly absorbed in a way adults rarely are. 

Jesse chuckles and leaves her to it, slipping out to the back deck and lighting a cigarillo. His shadow stretches into the darkness before him, backlit by a half-burnt porchlight and the windows as the others settle in to read or half-snooze in front of the living room TV. All of them left at least slightly food-pregnant by the spread they'd put together. 

After slapping a fifth hungry mosquito off his arm, Jesse decides to go lay in the hammock. Stretched between two warped oaks and draped with mosquito netting by some past tenant. Below the stars he swings gently on his back, tapping his ashes into the grass and ruminating. 

Their little niece supposedly isn't so little anymore- going to school and extracurriculars and growing out of shoes, toys, and teeth all the while. Yet she still seems so damn _small._ Still relatively easy to lift, sometimes quiet and owl-like and sometimes a whirlwind of noise and dirt, still young enough to fervently believe stuffed animals have feelings and weep appropriately for their injuries. 

Jesse had been smaller still when everything went wrong. How come no one ever asked him if he was okay? Who honestly looked at him and thought he could handle everything that was going on? He'd still believed in Santa, until December came and he didn't. 

The older he gets, the less dangerous that train of thought seems. Maybe distance counts for something. His sole memory of his mom remains a loop, an mp4 file in 280p with crackly audio. Her scooping him up, dimples deep in her freckle-dotted cheeks. _“Not in the kitchen, trouble.”_

He can't even recall what nonsense he was up to in that moment. He wishes he had more. He wishes she hadn't driven off the res in that beat-up old station wagon. He wishes it hadn't rained so hard that night. 

And now- would she be happy for him? Or would she glare at his disguises, like Ashe and all the rest surely would, given the chance? _Just who the hell do you think you are?_

Fuck if Jesse knows. Supposedly he's a mechanic, one of the guys being tapped for union work because he's 'such a smooth talker.' A married man with responsibilities and four-legged children. An amateur photographer, an uncle thrice-over, a good friend. 

But if he were to say _“Nah, that ain't me, you've got the wrong guy,”_ would they all agree? Would they all fold back into the wallpaper of his daydreams and leave him here, alone? 

“There you are, Jess.” 

Jesse lifts his head to see Hanzo coming around from the front door, his sneakers silent on the grass and his hair wet from the bath. “Looking for me, darlin'?” 

“For company, but I suppose you'll do.” Hanzo smirks as he lets the netting fall shut behind him, touching one hand to the hammock. “May I?” 

“Sure, hon, just get your butt on it first and then-” Jesse laughs at the little yelp Hanzo lets out when he loses his footing and sends them rocking violently. “We're fine, it won't fall.” 

“I'm holding you to that.” Hanzo grumbles, the two of them fumbling around, trying to get comfortable as gravity mushes them together. At last Jesse lifts his metal arm and Hanzo nestles underneath it, throwing one arm across his stomach and laying his cheek on his shoulder. Pale brown eyes slide open and look at Jesse with such open, abundant affection that he forgets how to breathe. 

Holding his smouldering cigarillo away, he brushes a kiss over Hanzo's brow. As he approaches his lips, his husband suddenly speaks. “I wonder if that pizza place beside the general store delivers out here, that might be a good dinner sometime this week. I imagine it'll take a lot of grocery runs to keep everyone fed.” Jesse doesn't so much as snicker, just waits until Hanzo glances back at him. “Oh, sorry.” 

He can't help but smile into their kiss, still so stupidly gone for this guy and so endeared by everything about him. If anyone else absentmindedly squeezed his chub to stim while they cuddled, Jesse would tell them to fuck clear off, but when Hanzo does it, it's cute. 

“Oh, Jesse, look.” His attention is directed upwards, into the shaking darkness of the leaves where golden lights flash and flicker to some unknown symphony. There's an almost ethereal quality to the way they fade in and out, leaving light trails behind them, their bodies and wings too small to make out. “Why don't we get them in our backyard?” 

“Too close to the city, I guess.” 

“What a shame. They're so beautiful.” Jesse feels Hanzo's chest expand and deflate on a slow, sigh, their eyes fixed upwards. “There's an old song about fireflies, we had to sing it at my elementary school graduation.” 

“How's it go?” 

“Oh god, you want me to go all the way back to sixth grade, really?” Hanzo chuckles, limbs loose and smile easy. “All I remember is that it's set to- what's that song drunk people sing at New Year's?” 

“Auld Lang Syne?” 

“Yes, that one. I remember the tune, and that Genji tried to get my attention during the performance and ended up knocking his chair over with a spectacular crash.” 

“Awh.” 

“I was dreadfully embarrassed, of course, I didn't speak to him for two days.” Hanzo scoffs and shifts, making the hammock creak in the quiet. “I didn't understand then, why he so often demanded my attention.” 

Jesse curves his top lip to blow the smoke away from Hanzo and the glowing canopy above, stubbing out the cigarillo on the hammock post and smooching his husband's temple. He finds Hanzo's hand and links their fingers together, admiring the strength in his scarred knuckles. He lets his gaze rest amongst the branches, almost surprised when Hanzo finally speaks again. 

“Do you remember our first New Year's?” 

“Eehh, kind of?” Jesse scrunches his face up in concentration. “I sure remember the hangover. You said I could have your Blu-ray player if you died.” 

“I mean, the offer still stands. But I have a confession.” Hanzo sighs to poorly conceal a laugh. “I only got as drunk as I did because I wanted to impress you.” 

“What!” Jesse nearly shouts, laughing and startling some of their glowing friends away. “Impress _me?”_

“I know, it was so stupid.” Hanzo hides his face against Jesse's shoulder and groans. “I thought you'd like me more if you saw that I could handle my liquor.” 

“But why'd you think- I mean, we were already dating.” Jesse huffs and resettles, the hammock not terribly forgiving on his back. “Besides, you were a total smokeshow. You impressed me by fuckin' showing up.” 

“Jesse, please.” 

“Cheese-grater abs, Han. There's still lesser men who would kill just to touch you.” 

“Oh for-” Hanzo shakes his head, tsking in fond exasperation. “You were just so- likeable, and charming, and you wore your jeans so tight- You brought me roses, for god's sake. I was convinced we didn't have long, and if nothing else I wanted to suck your dick one last time.” 

Jesse chuckles, hearty and trying not to sound mocking. “I do recall you saying somethin' about how if you were a religious man, you'd worship between my thighs.” 

A strangled noise emerges from Hanzo's throat. “Tell me you're joking.” 

“Unless memory fails, I'm not.” He flashes him a grin. “But I can lie and say I am, if it makes you feel better.” 

“How generous,” Hanzo drawls, planting a kiss on his cheek and gently rubbing his side. “Shall we head to bed? Or would you like to be left alone? You seemed deep in thought earlier.” 

“Nah, I'm alright,” Jesse replies, tonguing the rough side of a recent filling and willing himself to get up. “Just thinkin' about life, the universe, and everything.” 

Hanzo laughs softly, lifting himself up as best he can and pressing his lips to his husband's brow, silver piercings slightly cooler against his skin. “My clever Jesse.” 

And that's it, really. Jesse likes the way his name fits in Hanzo's mouth. The way their bodies fit together in the breezy night air. That they can lay in companionable silence, watching the play of the fireflies for a little longer until stiff muscles urge them inside, where they shush the dogs and shuffle off to brush their teeth. 

“You're gettin' a little irritated, hon.” Jesse notes as he rubs the latest Shambali salve concoction into Hanzo's stumps while he lays on his belly, arms wrapped around a pillow. “Might wanna take a break once you're out of the water tomorrow.” 

“Mm, I will.” Hanzo rolls over, looking like a goddamn snack with his blue briefs, messy bun, and sweet, sleepy face. Wordlessly, he takes the metal tin from Jesse's hand and settles in close to him. 

The smell of the stuff keeps the dogs on the floor, strong but not repulsive. As Hanzo kneads it into his stump with both hands, Jesse lets his head fall back, huffing little sighs when he digs into a tender spot. The bed is more luxurious and somehow less comfy than their bed at home, but perhaps he's absorbed a preference for routine. The quiet makes up for it, the sounds of sleep and soft nighttime activities merging with the lapping of the lake and the chirp of crickets outside their window. 

“I'm glad we got this time off.” Hanzo's raspy murmur vibrates against Jesse's ear. “You've been working so much, you deserve to rest.” 

“Eh, I've been kind of a lazybones at home, it all equals out.” 

“That's not exactly true.” Hanzo clicks his tongue, then returns to his diligent attentions. “When they do hire someone else, will you go back to your normal schedule? I know I'm in no position to make demands with my hours, but I miss having dinner with you.” 

Without opening his eyes, Jesse can read the subtleties woven into Hanzo's words and ducks his head, sheepish. “Sorry darlin', just wanted to make the most of it, y'know?” 

Never knew when things would be scarce again, though neither of them have had a past-due bill in years. Not like he's the piggybank type, either. It's just like when he was young and he'd get a stack of cash for doing this, that, or the other. _I'll grab it, don't worry. I'll get gas. You want dessert? Hold up, I think I've got enough-_

Shit, how much of any of this can he credit himself with, and how much of it is other people and plain old luck? 

The _fwip-fwip_ of Hanzo wiping his hands on his thighs is followed by those hands cupping his jaw. “You're a very hard-working man, that's nothing to apologize for.” He opens his eyes in time to close them again, Hanzo leaning in to plant the kind of kiss that makes Jesse want to marry him all over again. “I have missed you, that's all.” 

Over and over, Hanzo sees him, _knows_ him, and still loves him. That's not luck, that's a goddamn miracle. 

He kisses Jesse again, and again, arms around his neck and wearing that giddy, foolish grin that surely matches his own. Finally scooting back over the sheets, Hanzo stretches his arms over his head, making the twin dragons flex. “I ought to moisturize before it gets too late.” 

“You know I'm not gonna find you less hot when you get wrinkles, right?” Jesse snickers and settles into the pillows, slipping on his readers and picking up his library book from the nightstand. 

“That isn't what it's for,” Hanzo replies over his shoulder, slipping on his headband and unscrewing a yellow ceramic jar. “What are you reading?” 

“Old gay vampire shit.” 

“Again?” 

“Merits revisiting from time to time, it reads the way chocolate tastes.” 

“Mm, I see.” Hanzo works the goop into his face and replaces the jar neatly back in his toiletry pouch. Without another word, he lays his head on Jesse's lap, curling his arms up like a high school kid asleep on their desk, his expression completely content. Between the trusting warmth of him, the soft, slowing puffs of breath across his bare stomach, and the sleepy rumblings of Den and Lady in their shared bed on the floor, Jesse dozes off, not even rousing when the book tumbles off his chest onto the floor. 

*** 

Gabe's back screws up like a spring whenever he sleeps, but he finds that laying flat on his front and breathing slow makes stretching it out easier. Unfortunately it also leaves him vulnerable when Jack strolls back in from the shower and claps eyes on his posterior. “Don't.” 

The towel-clad man slowly, methodically raises his hands high above his head. “Don't, Jack, I swear to God-” 

He brings them down in a flurry of by-no-means-painful smacks, treating him like a hunk of dough before flopping down beside him and planting kisses between his shoulders. “Was that completely necessary?” 

“Yes, your ass called out to me, like a siren song.” Jack snickers, kissing up the nape of his neck and running his hands over his sides. “I couldn't resist.” 

Gabe sighs, still trying to stretch. “Is it because I'm dummy thick?” 

“The hell is that?” 

“I dunno, some meme. The kids at the centre keep saying it and I don't want to find out what it means because I'll probably have to tell them to stop.” He wonders how they're doing, summer can be a rough time for a lot of them. He can't be there every day of the year, but still. “Reinhardt sent me a picture of a palm tree, I guess they sorted things out with customs.” 

“Oh, good.” Jack hums and rustles around for his phone. He thought he'd hid his disappointment well when Hana called to explain they wouldn't be joining them, as Brigitte was off on a Habitat for Humanity trip and the twins were a bit much for her and Lucio to wrangle alone on a long drive. Gabriel isn't about to contradict him. 

“Damn, looks like her charity stream went past midnight.” Gabe grunts and rolls into a more upright position. Sometimes he suspects Jack can read his mind a little, and he doesn't like it. “What's this?” 

Gabe watches over his shoulder as the Twitter video plays on Jack's obnoxiously large phone. A shot of Hana at her snack-and-confetti-covered work desk, surrounded by smaller square shots of her gamer friends from Korea and a donation counter at the bottom, her face contorting with glee as she watches it on a screen out of view. _“Wait, guys, I think it's happening! Ohmigod, is it- It is! We raised over two million! We did it!”_

The tiny video Hana flings herself out of her chair, leaping around the small space and scooping up streamers from the floor. The collective joyous noise from her, her friends, and assistants comes out of the speaker shrill and sharp, but Gabriel doesn't miss Jack's barely-there sniff. “Need a tissue, Grandpa?” 

“Ff- shut up.” Jack snorts and thumbs the tears from his eyes. “I'm just really proud of her.” 

Gabe huffs a laugh too sentimental to be teasing, leaning forward to kiss Jack's shoulder. “I know.” 

Their hopes for an early breakfast are dashed by a blown fuse in the kitchen, the fuse box nowhere to be found. “Can you call the guy? Your French is better than mine.” 

Jack squints at him, a fashion disaster in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis. “What? No it isn't.” 

“The fate of these sausages depends on you, Morrison.” Ana yawns, gesturing to the pan full of sad, half-frozen turkey rounds. Gabriel follows that up with a pleading set of puppy eyes for good measure. 

With a familiar huff, Jack makes the call and locates the box, hidden perilously behind a stack of towels in the linen closet. Gabriel waits until he's making French toast and the others are vegetating in front of the TV to ask. “So, what does 'mon mari' mean, again?” 

Jack rolls his eyes all the way up to the ceiling. “For chrissakes, Gabe.” 

“I'm just asking-” 

“You have never 'just asked' anything in your entire life, and you aren't about to start now.” Jack gestures with the spatula. “I couldn't think of the word, and I wasn't about to put them on hold so I could ask Google Translate. It didn't mean anything.” 

“Alright,” Gabriel holds his hands up, then puts the orange juice away, a smile quirking his mouth. “Whatever you say, John Francis Morrison the Second.” 

“No one actually-” He cuts himself off with an amused frown. “You are a king-sized pain in my ass.” 

“Why? Because I have a point?” Gabe smirks, baiting him for the fun of it. Cosplaying their younger, stupider selves again. He takes the plate passed to him, three slices of bread dripping almost pornographically with honey. “I thought we only had enough for two each.” 

“Handsome bonus.” Jack leans over and pecks his cheek, quick as can be, and gets back to plating the rest of the toast, humming to himself all the while. 

There's a glint in his eyes that has only returned recently. The death of his father last year was long-expected, almost a relief after multiple illnesses collided and kept him in a hospice bed. Gabe flew down with him when his mother called, knowing it was time. Jack only permitted himself one real moment of raw pain, in private, after the VA guys showed up with the folded flag. 

_'I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,”_ Jack repeated, tense and pacing in the guest bedroom of his childhood home. _“I can't fucking do this shit again, I can't, okay? I can't.”_

Gabriel said nothing, Jack wasn't addressing him, or even of the difficulty of burying a parent. The guest list meant that he had no time to be a grieving son, he had to be Retired Commander Morrison. Gabe hadn't considered that when he promised him no more flags, for sure this time. 

_“Jack?”_ Beth's gentle voice floated through the door after a knock. “It's time to go, honey. Are you ready?” 

The crying jags, the trembling shoulders as he helped carry the casket, the tidying of his father's life- none of those seemed quite as sad to Gabriel as the way Jack snapped to attention, called out _'Just a minute!'_ and splashed a mask of water onto his face in the bathroom before hurrying out, acting as though Gabriel were invisible out of necessity. 

There are parts of Jack's mind that always remain a mystery to him, and while that's fine with Gabe, he suspects that the upending grief was one link in the logic chain that led him to finally, _finally_ fucking retire after umpteen half-promises and subsequent arguments. No more flights, no more private sector bullshit, no more excuses. For the first time, their time is completely theirs. 

Does that stop him from spending the morning baking? Of course not. No son of Beth and Jim would dare go a day without feeding every living thing in arm's reach. 

“Everybody likes Rice Krispie treats.” Jack shrugs as he sets another tray out to cool. He spots Maya toddling by, grabs a marshmallow and puts his hands behind his back before holding out two fists. “Which hand?” 

The little girl hums and pushes up her glasses, tapping the obviously-looser one after a moment's consideration. Jack beams and presents her with the squished marshmallow, which she promptly crams in her mouth and yells “Fanks!” as though it isn't her third in an hour. 

In an alternate dimension, Gabe is confident there's a version of Jack with six kids, three dogs, and a rabbit hutch in the yard. Not that he wouldn't choose the same, had they been different people. They both need something to love more than they love themselves, something to live for, something to be certain they'd die for regardless of how unlikely that is now. 

And it's not like Jack doesn't know to have fun, as much as they rag on him. As lunchtime approaches, he fires up the grill and looks out over the shimmering lake. Squirrels darting across the tree branches while the kids sit down by the dock and take turns blowing up an over-sized raft with a pump meant for a bicycle. “Damn, it's a good day to be alive.” 

“Sure is, nerd.” Gabe snickers, stretched out as comfortable as he can get on a lounge chair. Knitting some scrap acrylic yarn into what will eventually be a shopping bag and trying to soak up the sun's warmth and stash it somewhere where winter can't find it. 

“Who are you calling a nerd?” Jack scoffs, as though he hasn't already stuffed his sock feet into a pair of sandals like that's a thing anyone should do. Gabriel has no chance to retort, because a small RV rumbles into their poorly-executed parking area. “Who is that?” 

Gabriel keeps his eyes on his knitting. “Dunno, why don't you go find out?” 

Jack turns off the grill and tosses a knowing squint his way. “Gabe-” 

“Dad!” Hana hollers as she hops out, smacking the hood. “Look at what we rented! Isn't it cool?” 

Ana recently noted that Morrison, former jackrabbit in the field, only runs (lightly jogs, really, they're both too old and battered to run unless something's chasing them) for one person now, but she's damn well worth it. 

Gabe leaves them to hug and natter at each other in Korean, going over to help Lúcio extract the fussing twins from their booster seats and give the sweet kid his own hug. Their little family is certainly incomplete without Torb's youngest, but Gabriel is no less happy that they made it. “I'm gonna guess they didn't nap on the way here?” 

Lúcio 'oofs' as he sets Luiz on the grass, where the toddler promptly tips over and bawls in distress over some perceived slight. “Nope, not a wink.” 

Grandpa Jack steps in so Hana and Lúcio can make make their rounds. Gabe wanders back a while later to find him on the deck. Lunch postponed in favour of laying in the shade of an umbrella, Luiz and Yuna fast asleep and tucked against his sides, his eyes shut as a passing breeze musses his white hair. “I told you unemployment would suit you.” 

“Hmph,” Jack chuckles softly, without denial, shifting in the creaky lounge chair. “I think I might be incapable of feeling more content than I do right now.” 

“You sure about that?” Gabe cracks open a beer he'd stolen from the other fridge, pops in a purple curly straw he'd found in the kitchen drawer, and hands it to him. 

Jack takes a long, thoughtful sip, lifting his pointer finger away from the sweating can. “I sit corrected.” 

Gabriel snorts, taking the chair beside him and reaching out to pluck a bit of grass from Yuna's curly hair. Kid's fashion has swung back around to miniature adult clothes again, the pair of them dressed in contrasting polo tops and floral shorts. The snug cradle of Jack's arms not all that dissimilar from his proud grip on Hana's shoulders earlier. 

“Listen,” Jack's low voice calls his attention back up to his face, softened and a little tanned already. “We don't have to talk about this now, but what do you think about moving down here?” 

“I dunno, these places probably aren't winterized, and the property taxes must be insane.” 

“Goddammit, you know what I mean.” Jack shakes his head, gesturing with his beer. “I'd miss the house, but we're so far from everyone, it's such a pain.” 

“Mm, well, I'd have to transition the kids at the centre over to someone else.” Gabe rubs the back of his neck, eased by a thin layer of sweat. He doesn't think so highly of himself, but he knows the need for consistency with guys that age, trying to grow up and build on cracked foundations. “But I'd be more than happy to kiss five-hour road trips goodbye.” 

“No kidding.” Jack's thin lips curve on that slight, boyish smile that had set Gabriel's chest on fire a million times over, kept him awake at night and keeps him hungry, even now. “I'm not pretending this is my idea, not this time.” 

Gabe smiles back at him, the twins twitching and mumbling in their sleep. “You know I don't care about that.” He was always more than happy to be the director to Jack's producer. Jack could make things happen, could light a fire under anyone's ass. That he trusted Gabriel enough to disagree with him was enough, it had always been enough. 

“I know, but I get tired of being the asshole.” Jack laughs while Gabriel frowns and brushes him off. They sit in silence for a long stretch, the heat seeping into their skin. The happy ruckus of the kids at the shore carries over, splashing and shouting and music blasting. Jack's bare knee fits nicely into the rough curve of Gabe's palm. 

“We should adopt a dog, too. I miss Lulu.” 

“Jeez, you wanna have another baby while we're at it?” Gabe grins while Jack snort-laughs. Yeah, he's still cute, damn him and his stupid face. 

“Oh, speaking of babies-” Jack lifts his arms as Yuna stirs, rubbing her eyes while Luiz does the same. “You two didn't nap for very long.” 

The twins whine and fuss wordlessly, all groggy but not looking amenable to being cooed and cosseted back to sleep. Gabe can relate. “Want me to take over the burgers?” 

“Nah, you can only grill so many times each year, I can't pass up any more opportunities.” Jack grunts as he sits up, lifting Luiz to stand him up on his lap. “Want Gabe to take you back to Mom, hm?” 

“C'mere, munchkins.” Gabriel holds his hands out to help their little wobbly selves off the lounge chair. Jack's well into his element once he returns from herding the sleepy pair over to Hana's waiting arms. Frying, flipping, and singing to himself while sipping the last of his beer from the crazy straw. 

Even so, Gabriel still sees something in him ease when he casually rests his hands on Jack's waist. For a minute, Gabe shuts his eyes and lets himself appreciate the scent of fresh air, the warmth of a beautiful day, and the brief, sweet press of Jack's kiss. 

*** 

The rented bicycle's handlebars vibrate under Amélie's hands as she sways to keep her overstuffed camping knapsack balanced on her back. She'll only be staying a few days, but that's no excuse to underpack. 

Glistening with sweat, she leaves the bike propped against the front porch and steps inside, greeted by a smile, a hug, and an amaretto sunrise from Hanzo. “I was wondering when you would come.” 

“That bus stopped in every nowhere town on the map, you should be grateful I'm here at all.” Amélie sniffs, kissing both of his cheeks. “I did my best to convince Satya, but it seems she hates mosquitoes more than she likes us.” 

“A shame, but I expected as much.” Hanzo smirks and fixes himself a drink at the counter. “We'll have to arrange an indoor outing when we're back. A spa day, perhaps?” 

“Not a bad idea,” Amélie hums, picking at her chipped nails. Hanzo's electric blue trunks draw attention to the flesh-toned polymer in place of his usual metal knees. “Got yourself some new Ziegler originals, I see?” 

“Ah, yes, swim prototypes.” Hanzo steps one leg back to show them off. “So I can paddle my ass to safety.” 

“That's good.” Amélie grabs the back of her sundress and pulls it over her head, revealing the black one-piece underneath. “Because if you think I'd be first in line to perform CPR, think again. Beards are abominable cesspools.” 

“Tch, not if you actually wash them, which I do.” 

“But your cowboy almost certainly doesn't.” 

“You'd really forsake me over a few microbes, I'm crushed.” Hanzo slips an arm around her shoulders as they head outside. “What if I got stung by a jellyfish, would you help me then?” 

“Yes, but that would cost you at least five hundred USD.” Amélie primly sips her drink, bitter almond swirling over her tongue. “And we both know you have a Copic marker habit to maintain.” 

There is no dignified way to mount a giant inflatable raft, but they give it their best and somehow don't spill their drinks. Olivia- Jesse's sister, if Amélie recalls correctly -has already claimed her spot in the centre, stretching out on a towel and shooting her an impressed glance. “Damn, you could kill somebody with those legs.” 

“How do you know I haven't?” Amélie answers with the flick of an eyebrow and earns a laugh. Good, sometimes her sarcasm wins over no one, and it's really the only social skill she has left. Fareeha and Angela start paddling them out while a sunscreen-covered hand lands in the centre of her exposed back. She aims a glare at its owner. “That's cold, and I'm not returning the favour.” 

“No need,” Hanzo replies with a smile, the colours of him muted by her sunglasses. “That's what I got married for.” 

“So it wasn't for the prospect of regular dick?” Genji cracks open the cooler, rummaging around and pulling out a breezer. Lightweight. But then, he's been parenting for the last few years. Perhaps she shouldn't be so mean. 

“I didn't need a contract to secure that.” A couple amicable groans and as the rope tethering them to the dock pulls taut, they carve out their own squares of sun-soaked nylon paradise. 

Angela and Fareeha attend to each other's backs and shoulders with a subtle intimacy that Amélie supposes she ought to miss more, but she simply doesn't. All that she would desire from a boyfriend- companionship, understanding, someone who's genuinely happy to see her -she finds in Hanzo, and he suffices. 

Hanzo knew what it meant to go from old money to cashier wages. Knew the quiet lust for things of quality, the means to forget one's worries and pursue the things that moved you, coupled with the DNA-deep expectations, the responsibilities thrown over your head like a horse's bridle. Not being able to trust a single soul with the hideous parts of yourself. Semi-poverty offered a hollow anonymity in which they had both indulged, the acquired tastes of purpose and duty having long left their tongues. 

“Oh look, there's Zen and Jesse!” Genji points to vaguely human-shaped blobs much further down the shore and waves enthusiastically. “Ana saw a yellow cardinal yesterday, they're trying to track it down.” 

“Hm, I guess that's what passes for entertainment up here.” Oops, mean again. Oh well, at least Hanzo's brother never minds. 

Olivia snickers at the same time Genji does. “Yeah, honestly, if there was no wi-fi I think I would have had to turn down Gabe's invite.” 

“It wasn't working when we left, though?” Fareeha adds, chewing on an ice cube, Angela's head in her lap. “Gabe said he's gonna reset the router or something.” 

Olivia groans, pressing her face into her folded arms. “I'll fix it later if one of you promises to keep him away from it for the rest of the week.” 

Amélie lays her sunhat over her face, recalls when they had satellite installed at the Chateau and her father scrambled the settings so badly that they needed two separate technicians to fix it, and smiles. 

Lounging about in the sun eventually grows tiresome and the alcohol runs out, so they paddle back to the dock and dismount, crispy and lightly buzzed. A baptismal dunk in the lake removes the last sticky layer of sunscreen and repellent, and a fresh change of clothes leaves Amélie feeling more up to facing the inevitable awkward silences. 

Gabriel's efforts to reconnect are far from unappreciated, but the chasm seems too far to bridge. There is simply no protocol for their situation. Greeting card companies are greatly lacking in watercolour illustrations accompanied by sentimental text in the key of _'Sorry I murdered your friend. Torture, you know? It's a real mindfuck.'_

Despite his best efforts, their first proper phone conversation inevitably turned to 'he was a good man,' and of course, Amélie knew he was a good man. She had married him. She loved him because he was simply wonderful. She knew better than anyone what he'd had in front of him, the life they could have had together. She knew. 

Part of her wants to avoid tainting their grief, though a bigger part of her is dimly furious at the mere thought. They had lost many friends, she'd only had the one husband. His death at her unwitting hands had turned her life into a b-story, a pitiable sub-plot, a femme fatale monster for the crowds to leer and froth over until they forgot all about her. 

She often wished it had been her. Not out of any desire to end it all, only that in years past there was so little of her life to which she truly felt attached. Indeed, if not for Hanzo at her side, stumbling upon all three of them in the air-conditioned living room would have left her feeling quite cold indeed. 

“You're a bit pink on your back there,” Gabriel remarks, pointing to where Hanzo's skin shows through the back of his thirst-trap tank top. 

“I'm not surprised,” Hanzo sighs, taking one half of the loveseat and subtly gesturing for Amélie to take the other. “No matter how much sunscreen I put on, my skin just loves to peel.” 

“It's your reptilian side showing through,” Amélie offers dully, smiling around her refilled drink. 

“The conspiracy theorists were right all along.” Hanzo smirks back at her, slipping his phone from his pocket and opening his email while the others take in a soccer game. 

“'We deserve some time off, Amélie,'” she drawls, mimicking the low scrape of his voice. “'All you do is work, you need to escape, unplug for a little while.'” 

Hanzo grumbles, an indignant, cat-like noise in his throat while Ana snickers on the couch across from them. “I'm just triaging! I can't leave everything on Satya and Navdeep's plates.” 

“I mean, I'm fairly certain that's what a vacation is, but alright.” 

“Being the boss is great except for the part where you're the boss, right?” Ana tosses a smile their way. Kind, always kind, how does she manage it with her deadly reputation? “How's the new manager working out, by the way?” 

“Fantastic. I judged her age too quickly, she's incredibly capable.” Hanzo sighs, sinking into the too-soft upholstery. “It's so nice to have someone who can close a cash register unsupervised.” 

“Not like the one who broke the rollers and didn't understand why they got fired?” Jack asks, noisily draining the last of his beer while Hanzo emits a soft, mildly deranged groan. 

“Are you still teaching, Amélie?” 

Semi-surprised to be addressed, Amélie sips her drink and lapses into that most boring of adult small talk- listing off the bullet points of one's career. “Yes, I'm in charge of the senior pre-professional class and a couple adult classes.” 

A position she'd only achieved because the director, wearing inch-thick bifocals and unironically professing her lackluster knowledge of 'the Google,' had taken her CV for what it was worth, but she'll be damned if she isn't good at it. 

“Ah, very impressive!” Ana nods, resting her sandalled feet on the coffee table. “Do classes run through the summer, or no?” 

“Not the usual ones, but we do summer camps and intensives.” Amélie prefers the intensives, not disliking children outright as her coworkers believe, but thoroughly unsure of what to do with them. “The lack of rehearsals leaves us some free time, though.” 

“I put Hana in dance, once,” Jack mentions, eyes fixed on the TV. “It was in an elementary school gym. By week three she got bored, snuck out, and got her arm stuck in the cafeteria vending machine.” 

Gabriel shakes his head, smoothing a hand over his barely-greying hair. “I tried to tell you, she just wanted the sparkly leotard.” 

“And? Sue me for believing my child,” Jack snorts, his arm tightening around Gabriel's broad shoulders. 

Amélie had once been fairly confident they wouldn't last, their shared threads far too tangled. _They're addicted to each other, they'll never give it up. They just like to say otherwise._ How perceptive, Gérard. 

“Lady, come here.” Hanzo pst-pst's at his smaller dog, who lifts her tail and continues on down the hall, prompting him to get up and follow. “Don't walk away from me, I need to check you for ticks.” 

Left alone with only the meaningless drone of the game, Amélie senses the usual- maybe not tension, but definite discomfort in the air. Even back then, she had only begun to feel at ease with Gérard's teammates, scarcely older than some of their children, and now they don't know what to do with her. “You can relax around me, by the way. The codeword was 'tangelo,' it hasn't come up in years.” 

That's what normal people do, don't they? Make jokes? 

The gamble pays off. There is a release, a puff of amused air from each of them. Gabriel speaks first, always possessing the least artifice. “We just don't wanna haunt you on your holiday, that's all.” 

“Do we do anything but haunt these days?” Ana takes a long drink of her lemonade, crunching on an icecube and ignoring Jack's full-body flinch. “When I come visit Fareeha, I feel like I should be coming in through the wall.” 

Amélie chuckles, drawing again from her slowly-warming drink. “A bit dramatic, no? You're not exactly near death.” 

“Nah, but maybe a mile past relevant.” Jack twitches again when Ana crunches on another ice cube. “How can you do that? My insides are writhing and I'm only sitting beside you.” 

“Relax, you big baby.” Ana reaches over to obnoxiously pat his cheek with a condescension only permitted between close friends. She tightens her thin shawl around her shoulders and turns far enough to get Amélie in her line of sight. “Sam's taking us out canoeing once he gets back, would you like to join us?” 

Amélie, with some effort, rejects her first impulse to dismiss the pity-invite. As much as she relishes her cold, analytical side, she's no mind-reader, and neither of the Amaris appear to keep much tolerance for anyone they dislike. “How sober do I have to be?” 

Ana shrugs. “Enough to not get sunstroke and vomit in the canoe.” 

She finishes her drink and nods. “Sold, I haven't thrown up in twenty years.” 

“Good immune system?” Gabriel asks in genuine curiosity, eyebrow bunching up under a thickened scar. 

“Willpower.” 

“Nice,” Jack adds, cycling aimlessly through the limited cable options. “I once had a ten-year vomit streak until someone ruined it.” 

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Gabriel tips his head too far into Jack's personal space. “Who told you to get frosh-week-wasted on _my_ birthday? That's right, no one.” 

“You ordered shots! You know what happens when I do shots.” 

Ana touches her brow as though she has a migraine. “I swear to God, if you two resurrect this argument, I will push you into the lake and let SAR pull you out.” 

“Oddly specific question,” Hanzo politely interrupts, shuffling back in while scrolling through something on his phone. “But can we buy tangelos around here?” 

A second's pause, then Ana snorts and Gabriel's oddly contagious laugh spreads, the four of them giggling while Hanzo stands puzzled, brows knit. 

*** 

The sloping road is a welcome relief from the claustrophobic, gawking bus, as is the cool steel water bottle Jyoti presses it into his hands. “I'm not thirsty.” 

“You have only one kidney, and Ditya will have my head if I let anything happen to it.” Jyoti pushes the bottle back at him. “Drink.” 

Mondatta tsks, stashing his rebuttal and sipping the citrus-tinged water as they plod along the grassy gravel shoulder. The sun is slipping down the sky, tinting the clouds pinks and oranges and calling up tiny flying things that swarm and flee from the vile scent of their repellent. Their only landmark is a slender blue sign, standing faithfully at the edge of what might be a driveway. 

They catch Fareeha mid-sip, leaning beside a rack of drying dishes. “Hey guys! I didn't know you were coming!” 

Mondatta smiles kindly, if somewhat wry. “I've been obliged into a holiday.” 

“And I'm here to ensure he takes it,” Jyoti adds, nothing but smug. How he loves them. 

“Auncle! Auncle!” Maya races in from the next room, latching onto their shins and tugging at their robes. “Come play soccer with me? Pleeease?” 

“They just got here, dear one,” Zenyatta gently admonishes as he follows her around the corner. 

“I don't mind, we've been sitting for hours.” Jyoti catches hold of the girl's tiny hand. “Lead the way, my friend.” 

“I'll join you.” Fareeha sets her glass in the sink and pulls a hairband off her wrist. “I'll ask Angela if she wants to make it two-on-two.” 

“I'll come referee in a moment,” Zenyatta calls after them, turning his amber eyes up to his brother. “Are you hungry? We had dinner already, but there's leftovers.” 

“I wouldn't say no to a small plate.” Mondatta smiles at Zenyatta's nod, touching his shoulder as he turns towards the fridge. 

“I heard you were outvoted twelve to one.” 

“A humbling reminder of my own double standards, indeed.” Mondatta chuckles, accepting what remains of the tabbouleh and a fork, heading outside to play spectator to the smallest and most adorable of football matches. 

Returning to the electric summer air after washing his plate, he spots his other favourite brother-in-law down by the shore, fishing line in the water. Gabriel greets him from his low folding chair, gesturing to his gingerly-held position. “I thought too hard and tweaked my back.” 

“A pity, I hope it improves.” Mondatta smiles sympathetically at Gabriel's resigned- or perhaps accepting, grunt and takes the empty chair beside him. “How's the fishing, Hanzo?” 

“Not a bite yet, but that can change at any moment.” Hanzo's eyes stare out from under the sweatband holding back his hair, fixed on the plastic bobber as it lilts along the gently-lapping waves. 

“Reinhardt phoned me earlier, he sends his regrets.” Mondatta turns his attention back to Gabriel. “I hope I'm a sufficient substitute.” 

Gabriel waves his concern away. “You must miss him, I'm sure the silence is deafening.” 

Mondatta laughs amicably, grateful to feel so welcome, to be more than either his name or the unusual spouse of an old friend. “Oh yes, a little. But some distance is healthy, we're always travelling together. He misses Ana much more.” 

The soft grass beneath them mutes Maya's footsteps until she's standing at Gabriel's elbow, tugging politely at his t-shirt sleeve. “Gabe, can I have your pop tab?” 

Mondatta catches Hanzo's mouth twitching along with his own, so terribly amused at a child addressing an adult so familiarly, but Genji mentioned that Gabriel insisted on it. Mondatta spares a glance over his shoulder, finding Jyoti playing a much gentler match with Lúcio and the young twins. “What do you need it for?” 

“M'gonna give it to a crow so we can be best friends.” Maya replies, pushing her bright blue glasses up rather seriously. 

“Ah, I see. Here you go.” Gabe snaps the tab off his ginger ale, thumbs down the small sharp edge, and hands it to her. So eager is the girl to rush off with her treasure, she turns and sprints with her eyes down, hitting her forehead off the handle of Hanzo's fishing pole with an audible _bonk_ as he tugs the line back. 

“Chotto-!” Hanzo hisses in surprise, bending down to sweep back her bangs. “Daijoubu?” 

“Mhmm.” Maya nods and hurries off towards the other cottage, leaving Hanzo caught between endeared and concerned. “I worry that she's going to really hurt herself one of these days.” 

“I wouldn't, she's nowhere near as bad as Zenyatta was at that age.” Mondatta laughs, watching her tear across the grass. “I think I spent half my youth chasing him around.” 

Gabriel smiles in the easy, tired way common to all Reinhardt's friends. “Was he that bad?” 

“Oh, yes, always running off, always climbing things. Bringing home animals, getting into everything, he was an absolute terror.” Mondatta shakes his head, resting his chin on his hand. “But very resilient, and he never meant to cause anyone grief, he was just exceptionally curious.” 

“That's just it. It's all about finding the balance between letting them experience consequences first-hand and making sure they don't die.” 

“Parenting in a nutshell,” Mondatta quips back. 

“Genji crawled out a window onto the roof when he was four or five,” Hanzo recalls as he reels his line in slowly. “I thought our mother was going to have a stroke.” 

“I can imagine.” Mondatta once came upon Genji showing photos of his family home to a few of the Shambali, the mere thought nearly gives him vertigo. “I always tried to keep our grandmother from finding out about Zenyatta's shenanigans, otherwise we would both get in trouble.” 

And how she would go on when she did find out, though Mondatta has long since forgiven her. She'd had little opportunity to reverse generations of parents visiting their stresses upon their children, defining herself by her sacrifices as though they were battles won. He often wonders if Bajai saw him as an expression of something, perhaps a self she never got to name. Perhaps that's partly why he felt an immediate kinship with Hanzo, both of them left to be fatherless sons of dreams deferred. 

“Olivia's grandma would let her get away with murder,” Gabriel remarks idly, tugging at his collar, the air thickening with humidity. “But I think that's because they only saw her for short visits back then.” 

“Ah yes, that must have been hard, for all of you.” 

“I mean, yeah, but we worked it out.” Gabriel rubs a kink out of his neck, scar tissue straining over his collarbone. “Before I got posted, I started learning Spanish. I didn't want her to lose it between visits.” 

“You didn't know it before?” Hanzo asks over his shoulder, a touch surprised as he continues grumbling and fidgeting with the line. “Your fluency is impressive.” 

“Well, I could roll my R's and order lunch, but that was it. If not for having Liv and Jesse at home, I never would've picked it up.” 

“It's very good that you did, children are so malleable at that age.” Mondatta barely suppresses a snicker. “Zenyatta and I were educated in English, and his main teacher for three years in a row was a British grad student on some sort of exchange program. You can only hear it on a few words now, but I still have home videos where he sounds more London than Bharatpur.” 

He and Hanzo share a somewhat schadenfreude-laced laugh, Gabriel chuckling and sipping from his can. “See, that's the sort of thing that makes me glad I was an only child.” 

“Did you at least get a pet?” Hanzo asks rhetorically, shifting his stance and recasting his line with a mighty overhead swing. “I asked for an Akita puppy and got a brother.” 

“To be fair, brothers usually learn how to feed and clean up after themselves.” Mondatta observes, chuckling and recrossing his legs. “How is Jack doing? I haven't seen him yet.” 

“He's either still out with Hana getting Twizzlers, or he's taking eighty million photos of the grandkiddos.” At the sound of squealing laughter, without looking back, Gabriel lets his lips curl back on an almost-secret smile. “Should've taken a bet. Catch anything, Han?” 

“Some seaweed- lakeweed? I don't know.” Hanzo grimaces, peeling the slimy green clump from his hook and tossing it back into the water, wiping his hand on his shorts. “I think I'll try again in the morning, the fish simply aren't interested.” 

The sun touches the horizon now, bathing it in blinding orange, one of those lovely, long midsummer sunsets. Hanzo collects his pole and empty pail and heads off. Gabriel stands up with a tight groan. “You coming in?” 

“In a little while,” Mondatta settles fully into the elastic stretch of the chair, no long positioning himself for conversation. “I'm here to relax, allegedly.” 

Left alone, he watches the sun inch down. The horseshoe of beach and summer homes opens up to endless water, rippling and shining with reflected fire as it swallows the reddish disc whole. The trees along the shore turn to sharp black, almost painterly outlines, and the offshore breeze is heavy and warm. The air sings of cricket strings and the cymbals of bird chirps, along with the shrill buzz of a few dedicated cicadas. 

He wouldn't mind sharing all this, nor being enclosed in the breadth of a strong arm, but if he starts longing now he'll become quite pathetic in two weeks' time. So instead, he thinks about how respiration and combustion are so chemically similar, and how the ebb and flow of the Iris that pushes heat from the centre of the sun also pushes blood and sparks through his body that allow him to enjoy its warmth. That which lets them all live also allows them to enjoy being alive. 

Zenyatta never misses an opportunity to marvel at the universe with him, rolling up alongside him ever so quietly as Angela and Fareeha flick on the light at the end of the dock and drop giddily into the darkened water. 

A shout from the back door is his only cause to turn and catch Maya come barrelling down the path, clad in her dark pink bathing suit and swim goggles, arms in the air. At the end of the dock, she barely pauses before launching herself into a swan dive that has Mondatta's heart lurching out of his chest. 

She resurfaces before any intelligible words can leave his lips, Angela and Fareeha applauding and cheering her jump, with Genji following soon after, his crutches abandoned against a tree as he hops in with them. “Isn't she splendid? She was out there all afternoon. Her swim instructor said she'll put her in the next level as soon as she gets a little taller.” 

“That's wonderful, though you could have told me a moment earlier.” The two of them laugh, Mondatta willing his pulse to slow as he watches his niece glide through the water and cling to Genji's side as he floats on his back. “Perhaps she'll grow up to be an athlete.” 

“Hmm, perhaps.” Zenyatta's eyes stay fixed on them, shining with subtle pride and affection as he passes Mondatta his refilled water bottle. May the Iris bless Jyoti and their endless, unnecessary concern for his well-being. “She told me the other day that she's set on becoming a wizard paleontologist astronaut.” 

Mondatta giggles outright, so hopelessly in love with the mysterious, almost dream-like logic of children. “Goodness, I wonder what realistic option she'll end up gleaning from that.” 

“Well, I don't know that realism is so necessary,” Zenyatta muses as Mondatta takes a lengthy sip. “After all, her uncle's made quite a career since starting a cult with his first sexual partner.” 

The water, thankfully free of lemons this time, surges straight up Mondatta's nose and forces him to cough quite spectacularly. His brother's helpful whacks to his back don't spare him from a glare afterwards. “Zen- _yatta-”_

“I'm not wrong.” Zenyatta arches both eyebrows, smirking. An imp in pastel summer dress. “And Jyoti though it was funny” 

“You did that on purpose.” Mondatta rubs now-burning nose on his fist. “Must you torment me?” 

“Of course, it keeps you humble.” Zenyatta's grin is wicked-sharp. Even at forty, his face refuses to age, much like their father. “You're so domestic now, someone has to be your gadfly.” 

“The balance between hope and fear is a delicate one,” Mondatta admits, letting some reluctance show. “Sometimes I let it topple on purpose.” 

“I'm not criticizing.” Zenyatta shakes his head, expression sweetening. “I let it topple almost every day. I even have a retirement account at work now.” 

Mondatta moves to reassure him, tell him it's okay to want a stable future, but a shrill shout from the dock draws their attention. “Watch me, Baba, watch me!” 

“I'm watching!” Zenyatta grins so brightly, mirth and something yearning dancing in his eyes as Maya flips herself off the dock once again. Mondatta sweeps his palm over the Brillo-pad fuzz of Zenyatta's scalp, a soothing and familiar habit between them, wondering but never fully asking if he now understands how Mondatta felt back then. 

*** 

Maya is still a little teary when Genji enters their room. She hadn't much wanted to get out of the lake, even though it was well past her bedtime. Overtiredness accompanied by a lost toy finally sent her bawling. It wasn't unexpected, with so many people around and a complete change in routine, she was bound to run out of steam at some point. 

“Why are you hiding?” Genji asks lightly, sitting on the lower bunk while she buries her face against Zen's neck. 

“M'sad,” Maya answers emphatically, turning just enough to peep out at him. 

“It's okay to be sad, c'mere.” With some coaxing, Genji scoops her into a quick hug, then guides her up the ladder to the top bunk and tucks the thin blanket around her. She pushes her face into her worn-out bear, only her eyes visible above the pink fuzz, a certain frustration in them that he still remembers all too well. “Get some sleep, okay? Tomorrow will be better. I love you.” 

“'Kay,” Maya mumbles, brightening slightly when he plants a kiss on her forehead. “G'night, love you guys.” 

“Love you too, dear one.” Zenyatta chuckles, turning out the light and shutting the door softly behind them. 

The old floors creak beneath them, the thrum of the music only audible once they reach the sliding glass door. In an affectionate mood, Genji dips to kiss Zen's crown, then his lips when they're offered, lingering there. “Are your arms tired? I can push you, if you want.” 

“Mm, I wouldn't say no.” Zen smiles up at him, folding his hands in his lap. He usually switches between his electric and manual wheels, but he had decided on risking pulled muscles over trying to maneuver the two-hundred-fifty pound power chair into the rental car. 

Across the green, Genji plays bartender at the kitchen island, holding a bottle of mix out to Mondatta. “You want some?” 

“Please,” his brother-in-law holds out an empty glass, expression creasing playfully. “It's foolish now, but I used to think those had alcohol in them as well.” 

“Hah, no way! You'd die if you drank that much!” 

“That's what I told him,” Jyoti adds quietly as Genji pours them a glass as well. “What a nerd.” 

“What did you expect?” Mondatta gently elbows his shadow, the two forever engaged in conversation with only their eyes. “I was mostly Buddhist before we met, you'll recall.” 

“So were all the men in my family, at their own funerals,” Genji jokes, finishing his cocktail and clinking his glass with theirs. “But cheers to an almost half-century of sobriety!” 

“The almost isn't necessary, I'm not sensitive about my age.” 

“Yes you are!” Zenyatta interjects on his way by, two bowls of chips balanced in his lap. 

“I'll raise you six decades and counting,” Ana reaches in with her ginger beer, ensuing another round of clinks before pointing at Genji. “Your little girl is snoring away, I don't think she'll wake up anytime soon.” 

“Thanks, I figured. She sleeps like a rock once you get her down.” They had also tucked the twins into the sofa bed to ensure a noise buffer, and established a rotating check-the-children schedule every fifteen minutes. 

The dads have been getting gradually cuddlier since dinner, unsurprisingly standing hip-to-hip at the grill, swaying slightly while Jack fries up some tapas for everyone. “We can throw your song on if you tell us what it is.” 

“See, that's the thing.” Gabe turns, resting his chin on Jack's shoulder and smiling. “It's classified, because it's so very gay.” 

“Right, and what's your metric for 'very gay?'” 

Jack shrugs, his spatula work almost beautiful. “Anything by the Carpenters.” 

Gabe jabs a finger into his ribs. “Close your mouth, Morrison. We talked about this.” 

Sensing imminent old man flirting, Genji flees to the actual bonfire. Not terribly large, but bright and leaping in the all-encompassing darkness. Even the stars are blanketed by clouds, reducing their surroundings to primal shapes and shadows. An absurdly long extension cord permits a bright yellow boombox to sit balanced on a chair, bathing them in bassy, staticky sound. 

On the smokeless side of the fire, Jesse and his sisters dance almost hard enough to shake the ground. Olivia and Hana lend finesse to Jesse and Fareeha's enthusiasm, the four of them shaking it like Polaroid pictures and singing every word to a song Genji doesn't recognize. Angela runs up from behind, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the fray. 

Both of them rounding the corner on tipsy, they spin and twist and dip each other with the same abandon they had at his own wedding reception, Fareeha catching Angela and spinning her back to Genji every few beats. Sam eventually gives up his wallflower, head-bobbing act to ask about the moves they had actually learned from their old social dance class. Angela loves to teach and Genji is happy to demonstrate, laughing loudly when he's dropped on the first dip despite Fareeha's “Oh my god, _Dad.”_

When it's his turn to look in on the kids, Genji passes Lúcio, Ana, and Amélie on the nearby lawn chairs, sharing a plate of nachos and seemingly in deep discussion. “Have you guys seen Hanzo?” 

“He said he was getting more ice?” Lúcio answers over the music, one cheek chipmunk-full. 

“Which might have been code for taking a piss in the woods,” Amélie finishes with a shrug, making Ana laugh. Her hair is down and she looks- relaxed? It's hard to tell with her, but Genji's just glad she's here. Ninety-nine percent for her and Hanzo's sakes, one percent for the glimpse of her in that bathing suit. Angela and Zen had agreed. 

The twins have tumbled around, ultimately clinging to each other, but are still completely conked out, as is Maya, curled into a ball. He stands in the doorway a moment longer, resisting the urge to tousle the cowlick standing straight up from her forehead. 

He finds Hanzo on the back deck of the darkened cottage, Lady and Den at his feet, elbows on the railing as he stares out into the night. Genji approaches casually, mimicking his pose. “You okay?” 

“Oh yeah, Lady ran off after something, and Den doesn't heed my warnings about peer pressure, hm?” Hanzo grips his greying muzzle, shaking it gently until Den snorts and paws him away, opting to sniff Genji's sneakers instead. “Now I'm just contemplating.” 

Genji hums agreeably, scritching behind his dog-nephew's ears. “Your husband is shaking his ass over there, by the way.” 

“I saw.” Hanzo smiles faintly. “I said contemplating, not moping.” 

“I didn't say anything.” Genji snickers, following his gaze up into the blue-black void. The bonfire congeals into joyous noise off to their left, the lake still and soundless before them, save the relentless clicking of Hanzo chewing on his snakebites. “Stop that, it's so annoying.” 

“Stop what? I'm just standing here.” Hanzo frowns, the metal-on-enamel sound resuming immediately. He watches Genji massage the back of his stiff neck with narrowed eyes. “It's been bothering you a lot lately, you should see a doctor.” 

“Pft, when's the last time you saw one?” 

“Well- I haven't had the need.” 

“I'm sure,” Genji scoffs, turning his head until he hears a semi-satisfying crunch. He works his chapped lips together, then lets a little honesty tumble over them. “You really ought to get a full physical done soon, though. You're only a few years off from outliving Tou-san.” 

“What? That can't be-” Hanzo's expression drops as he does the math, tapping his thumb across his fingertips. “No, you're right. God, he really wasn't so old, was he?” 

“Unfortunately not.” Genji feels his jaw pull tight. He glances off. “He looked older. Life aged him, I guess.” 

“Too right.” Hanzo leans heavier on his elbows and sighs, the night air thick and still around them. “Well, I don't smoke, so I'm probably fine.” 

“It might have been part genetics.” Genji's tone is acidic, eating an edge into his voice as he continues. “If I'm going to get checked, so should you.” 

“What for? I'm perfectly healthy.” 

“Don't you want to be around for Maya?” 

Sharp, too sharp, and it's not even the real question. Genji looks away again, and Hanzo underlines his words with condescension and concern. “I knew you were worried about something.” 

Caught, Genji sweeps a hand through his hair and snarks back. “What can I say? Fatherhood's got me fucked up.” 

“I'll go.” 

Genji flicks his head up, a little shocked at the complete lack of argument in his brother's tone. “Really?” 

“If it will put your mind at ease, I'll do it. It can't hurt.” A distant smile passes over Hanzo's face, his expression pensive. “And I don't want to put her- any of them, through that, if I can help it.” 

Genji half-smiles back. “And you won't even complain?” 

“I never said that.” They laugh, low and muted, rocking and shifting on metal joints. “We really are getting older, aren't we?” 

“Nuh-uh, you're getting older and dragging me along with you.” 

“You're ridiculous,” Hanzo tosses back with a smirk. Like he isn't well on his way to looking like an aging rockstar, especially with his hair grown out, streaked with as much grey as Kaa-san had at his age. “Are you- alright, though? Be honest.” 

Genji rolls his eyes before answering. “I'm fine, just a touch of the 'I don't know what I'm doing with my life.'” 

“Pft, do any of us?” 

“Well, Jesse seems like he's got his shit figured out.” They exchange another low laugh, Genji loosely folding his arms against himself. “I dunno. It's probably just a perception thing, but I've always felt like everyone but me knows what they're supposed to do, what their purpose is.” 

Hanzo hums rather seriously. “Sounds like second son syndrome to me.” 

“Okay, fuck you.” Genji jabs a finger right in the centre of Hanzo's chest. “You do not get to say that to me, fuck right off.” 

“Even if it's true?” Hanzo grins like the smug asshole he is and Genji grabs his arm. Their judo holds not quite forgotten, they grapple clumsily, laughing but not giving in. It ends in a flurry of shushes after they knock over a deck chair, Genji peeking through the glass and finding at least the twins still fast asleep. 

“Did you have a hard time getting Maya down? She seemed pretty upset.” 

“Mm? Oh yeah, she's fine. She's just seven.” 

“Ah, well, being seven is difficult sometimes.” 

“It sure is,” Genji chuckles, kicking a rock off the porch and into the grass. He doesn't give voice to it often, but Maya reminds him so much of a very young Hanzo. The sensitive, bold, introverted child he was never permitted to be. 

“I've been in my thoughts today, as well,” Hanzo murmurs after a short stretch of silence. “Mondatta said something and- well, I realized that back then- most times that I was cruel to you, I thought I was doing you a favour.” 

The mood has officially reached the sub-basement. Genji studies his brother's face carefully over his glasses. “Oh?” 

“I'm not trying to justify my actions, but I really believed that I was- parenting you, on some level.” Hanzo swallows, his throat bobbing slowly while he keeps his gaze distant. “That if I punished you first, I was sparing you. If I shouted at you enough, hit you enough, you'd eventually understand that and 'behave' and stop- risking everything.” 

Hanzo lifts his eyes, churning with conflicting emotions and widened slightly in shock. “I honestly, sincerely believed that, and I find that so frightening now.” 

“Don't,” Genji begins, his words catching up to him slowly. He reaches out, then thinks better of it. Fuck, they're both still so bad at this. “You don't have to- we were fucked up from birth, Hanzo. All of us. You never stood a chance.” 

“No, but still.” Hanzo looks back towards the water, speaking to the gnat-filled air. “I wonder how much we have left to unravel, what we don't realize, even now.” 

“Hell if I know,” Genji manages a chuckle, at the true absurdity of it all. “Do you know how many times I've tried to tell Zen or Angela what I think is a funny story from back then, and instead of laughing they just stare at me with this _look-”_

“Oh, _god,_ I know exactly what you mean.” Hanzo groans, smiling lopsided as he scrubs a hand over his face. “I almost told Gabe the baby teeth story today, but the last time I shared something like that, he cryptically apologized and gave me one of these.” 

Genji can't help but giggle at Hanzo's hilariously-accurate paternal shoulder rub. “That one's not even bad! She hugged me after she cracked me across the face. I kinda understand that panicked impulse now, Maya's had some close calls.” 

“But you've never hit her, of course.” 

“Of course not! She doesn't deserve that.” 

Hanzo pointedly doesn't look at him. “Neither did you.” 

“Or you.” Genji shrugs, not wanting to get dragged under and drowned by old heartaches, even as images of their equally broken and idyllic childhood flood his mind. They stay leaning, staring up and out into the night. It'll be Hana's turn to check the kids in a few minutes, they should probably go. 

“I'm so glad-” Hanzo pauses, continues, a droll smile on his lips and his hair lifting with the breeze. “I'm glad you never learned to behave.” 

Genji can only snort, tipping his head forward. Den whines and paws at Hanzo's feet. “What? Are you bored? Go find Jesse then, go on.” 

With a polite woof, Den lopes off towards the bonfire, legs going every which way while Lady follows at a neat trot on her stubby paws. Once again, Genji hasn't managed to say what he really means- which is that he's so glad Hanzo never truly became the cold-hearted kumicho they desired him to be. That he still likes drawing and dogs and collecting small things just like when they were little. That he stayed alive until they could meet again. 

It took courage, not cowardice, to flee across the sea and choose a different life. It took effort- real blood, sweat, and tears to become a better man and reclaim what was stolen from you. It took strength to crack open your own chest and show your real self to the people gathered around you, and more still to stay, to face the consequences and let them patch your wounds when all you want is to run away and disappear, unnamed and unremembered. 

He's proud of Hanzo for all of that and more. For still being his big brother. 

In the silence, Hanzo wraps his arm around Genji's shoulders, squeezing his arm and pulling him close. With his mind a soppy-ass mess, Genji leans his head on Hanzo's shoulder, just for a moment. On his phone and on a shelf at home, there's photos of the two of them asleep, sitting just like this. 

“Let's head back,” Hanzo says with a final squeeze, releasing Genji and shuffling quietly down the ramp. “Before we worry our darling husbands.” 

“Oh yes, I'd hate for the poor dears to feel abandoned!” Genji jokes in an affected voice, just to hear Hanzo's rough laugh as they cross the grass. He still squint-smiles, just like Kaa-san. “Why, Zenyatta might come down with a case of the vapours!” 

Into those poor dears' arms, they are delivered, enclosed amongst the others as everyone roasts marshmallows to varying success. The bonfire extinguished, they all lay down to sleep, surrounded by the white noise of the others snoring, shuffling, and fridge-raiding. Come sunrise, he feels Maya crawl in between him and Zen, and he pulls her close for a sleepy morning snuggle. 

At times like this, Genji is certain that the dim sparks they kept smouldering through the darkest parts of their lives burn on in her.

**Author's Note:**

>  _You can make it different, you can make it ri-ight, you can make it better, we don't have to fight!..._
> 
> KAY SO, 1. Sorry for posting a very summery fic on Dec. 1st, this took waaay too long to write, and I hope you enjoy it all the same! It's a hefty one, thanks for making it to the end! 
> 
> 2\. This is the 'last chapter' of the Shimada Brothers Need Healing 'verse, I say that and I wrote this because I have loved writing this series and living in this little sandbox universe so, so much and I wanted to give it a proper, cathartic ending rather than letting it peter out into nothing as so many (including my own) fic 'verses have. You, my dear readers, have been so sweet and lovely, leaving kind comments and even returning to re-read. I'm so glad these silly nerds have brought some warmth and laughs to your days, and I'm glad we've found each other through this series, that's why I wanted to make sure you have an ending.   
> This isn't actually the last story in the 'verse I will be posting, however! There's an epilogue set some 40-odd years in the future that I want to write and hopefully post before the 2 year(!) anniversary of 'Crush,' but- well, honestly it's going to be quite sad, and I won't blame anyone if it's not your cup of tea. If you'd like to treat this as the last plot-based chapter of the series, that's just fine! Once that's posted, I'll mark the series as 'complete.'   
> Additionally, I have a few more side stories I'd like to add to the Recall collection. If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them in the comments! I'm not dropping this 'verse by any means. But these will be posted more sporadically, as there are other fics I'd like to write and sandbox around in, and life is busy, as always. 
> 
> 3\. Thank you so, so, so much whether you've read one chapter or all of them, left a comment or not, I can't tell you how happy it makes me to share these stories and my love for these characters. Every single comment, kudos, and bookmark has warmed my chilly soul more than I can say without getting totally sappy. Much love to all of you, please take care of yourselves, and have a wonderful day <3! 
> 
> Also yes, Jack and Gabe's song is 'Close to You' because A) Gabe once got phenomenally drunk and sang it to Jack as a joke at karaoke (except it was half-joking, at best) and B) I can't help but imagine the dads as big Simpsons fans.


End file.
